“You cannot be serious, Thomas,” Myles said.
The shock in his friends’ voices puzzled him.
“Don’t ‘Thomas’ me. When I became Wentworth, I asked you to continue calling me Thomas and you refused, so don’t ‘Thomas’ me now. Besides, what do you expect me to do?” He slashed the air with his arm. “Never mind, don’t answer that. But what would you do if you were in my place?”
“Well, let me see.” Myles grinned widely. It was never a good sign when he grinned like that. “I think I’d book passage on the next ship to Boston, travel to this girl, extend my condolences for her father’s death, and beg her forgiveness for stealing all her money.”
Both Thomas and Amesbury yelled simultaneously, “What?”
Myles laughed. “Let me finish. Once she falls at your feet...” He paused, shook his head. “No, I take that back, she’s likely a feisty one. I think she’ll try to scratch your eyes out. Then I think you should marry the chit and bring her here as your duchess and get her portion of the monies, too. She might forgive you eventually for stealing her fortune and taking her away from the only home she has ever known.”
“You’re enjoying this.” Thomas eyed his two grinning friends and collapsed into his chair in frustration.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I am,” Myles said. “Come to think of it, maybe I’ll travel with you. I’m tired of the marriage-hunting mamas and their silly, witless daughters all vying for my attention and my title. Not one of them is interested in me as a man, only the earldom and fortune I’ll inherit someday. I don’t want some shy, placid virgin in my bed.”
Thomas stared in shock at his friend.
Myles continued. “Yes, well maybe I should explain. I want a virgin, but I also want an enthusiastic bed partner. Do you think any of the present debutantes are anything but frigid?” He shuddered. “If you don’t want the American girl, maybe I’ll marry her.”
Thomas’s nostrils flared. “And what, pray tell, makes you think I would let you marry my ward? I will not even let you near my sisters because you are debauched. Visit your mistress and stop this nonsense.”
Myles burst into laughter and saluted him. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“You are jealous because you will never be called Your Grace, only my lord,” Thomas teased his friend. “And for your information, Mr. Hamilton did not appear to be the type of man who would raise his daughter to be free with her favors. I doubt she is any different than the frivolous girls we have here in England. And I have no intention of marrying her.”
“Why not?” Amesbury questioned. “You need a duchess and an heir. Why not marry her and be done with it? If she’s not comely, you can take a mistress. She’d probably be glad not to have to submit to your inept fumbling in the bedchamber once you have an heir and a spare anyway.”
Thomas flung his head back and roared with laughter. “All this praise from my so-called friends. What do my enemies laugh about behind my back?” His hand went up. “Don’t answer that. And I’ll have you know, I don’t fumble in the company of any lady.” He paused and examined his large hands. “I play their bodies until they sing my praises and beg for a repeat performance.”
“If you say so.” Amesbury snorted.
“Now if you will excuse me.” Thomas rose. “I need a bath, food, and a comfortable bed.” Without waiting for a reply, he left his study and climbed the carpeted staircase two steps at a time.
Clearheaded and light of feet for the first time in days, he burst into his chambers with a renewed sense of purpose. He now knew what he had to do. Honor forbade him from ignoring his duty to Hamilton. How could he ever look himself in the eye if he didn’t fulfill the dead man’s wishes?
A trip to America was in his immediate future.
THE LADY AND THE EARL
A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Two
“Please, do not be afraid.”
Was he serious? How could she not be afraid?
Lady Amelia Seabrook struggled with her skirts as she waded through the shin-deep water to retrieve her boots and stockings from a nearby rock. Her muslin skirts were soaked to above her knees and clinging most embarrassingly to her legs; her stockings and shoes were drenched as she had splashed them in her hurry to exit the water. The mile walk back to her home, one she normally enjoyed, would be uncomfortable because of the dampness of her clothing. Most important of all was that she make haste to remove herself from this intruder.
How dare this stranger ruin the time she spent daydreaming about Captain Rycroft, her beloved? How dare he interrupt? It was only during these lonely, quiet times that Amelia allowed herself to think of him. To dream and wish he still lived. But today, when she needed this time to remember and to reflect, this stranger had destroyed the moment.
Amelia turned, her chin held high. She would not cower before anyone. “Who are you, sir?”
“Lord Bridgeton. My land abuts this creek.”
By the narrowing of Lord Bridgeton’s eyes, Amelia knew she failed to hide her shock at his intrusion here. She’d long known the earl lived as a recluse because of a scandal involving his older brother and his brother’s pregnant wife. Amelia had learned this from servants’ gossip.
Looking at him now, he did not look dangerous. Frightening perhaps, the way he sat on his fine stallion and towered over her, but not dangerous. Amelia admitted he was even handsome, with his dark, wavy hair, streaked with silver here and there. The earl wore it unfashionably long, however, and it grazed his shoulders. He had strong features and high cheekbones. What drew Amelia’s interest, despite her angst, were Lord Bridgeton’s eyes––a pale blue so light they were almost gray. Very striking against his dark hair and sun-bronzed skin. The color did not mesmerize her, rather it was the pain she recognized radiating from them. A pain she understood all too well.
Remembering her loss, she wiped a tear from her cheek, knowing her eyes would reveal her sadness and despair. She must look a sight after crying for so long. Her brothers had warned her to stay away from this earl and his property. Had they believed the gossip? Did they know more than she’d learned from servants’ gossip?
“Are you going to continue to stare at me so rudely, or are you going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?” the earl demanded, slapping his riding crop against his thigh impatiently.
She should have been offended and cast him away like an irritating insect. But there was something compelling in his tone and his words that, though meant to intimidate her, did not. Instead, his voice, so demanding, deep, and smooth, wrapped around her like a blanket warmed by the fire.
“I’m Lady Amelia Seabrook, Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth’s sister. I live here and have been for several weeks now.”
“If that is true, what, pray tell, is a lovely, young, privileged member of the ton doing crying in the country during the height of the Season?”
“That, Lord Bridgeton, is none of your concern.” Amelia looked down and again fought the burning of tears in her throat and in her eyes. She would not cry in front of this stranger. After all the crying she had done the past year and a half, she promised herself she would never cry another public tear as long as she lived. She had come to accept the fact that she would never dance at another ball or attend Almack’s or any such silly soirees that other young ladies attended during the London Season. And she did not care. Their loss did not make her cry. Losing Captain Rycroft did.
Lord Bridgeton’s eyes widened before he bowed his head ever so slightly. “Please accept my sincere apologizes for my rudeness. You obviously have a good reason to be here instead of London.” He held up his hand. “And, of course, that reason is none of my business. Once again, I apologize.”
“Indeed, no, it is none of your business. Oh!” Amelia backed up several steps as Bridgeton dismounted from his horse. Her heart pounded as her eyes darted about for an escape.
“Please, I told you not to be afraid,” he repeated. “You just surprised me with your presence
here. I come here almost daily, and I’ve not seen you here before.”
Once again the warmth from his voice cocooned Amelia in a kind of radiance. Why did the voice of this stranger have such an effect on her? “I’m truly not afraid. You just startled me.”
“Is the rest of your family in residence as well?”
Did he think she resided here alone, with only the servants as protection––making her easy prey? Again she considered evading his question and running but caught herself. Stop it. There’s nothing to be afraid of from the earl. Gossip is only gossip, and not reliable. She, more than anyone else, should know this. He has not hurt anyone. And, certainly, he is not here to hurt her. When her inner voice stopped, she answered the earl. “My brother, Lord Sebastian, is here as well.”
“I’ve not had the privilege of making his acquaintance. Mayhap someday I will.”
Did Amelia’s ears deceive her, or did she hear loneliness in his voice? She understood pain––the kind she had already glimpsed in his eyes. She knew loneliness as well. These two were her constant companions.
If what she saw reflected in his eyes were true, then she and her neighbor had much in common. “Perhaps someday soon you will meet him.” She looked down at her hands, still gripping her soggy boots and stockings. Others would be shocked to see her standing there in her bare feet, talking to Lord Bridgeton. She was not. Too much had happened to her in the past year and a half for her to worry about something as silly as being caught barefoot in public.
She curtsied. “Good day to you, Lord Bridgeton.” Even before she heard his reply she hurried along the bank of the stream toward home, looking for the safety of the walls of Stony Cross Manor.
“Do not look back. Do not look back,” Amelia mumbled to herself. The words didn’t convince her because, despite them, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him in the distance standing at the water’s edge. That he stood there watching her was unsettling. She would not acknowledge that her sudden breathlessness had anything to do with him.
Running. She had practically been running. That was the reason she could not catch her breath. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Lord Bridgeton and his wounded eyes pierced straight to her soul.
THE LADY MUST CHOOSE
A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Three
Available now
Chapter One
England 1818
The sound of water slapping the side of the boat, along with the constant swaying, had Lady Isabella Seabrook wishing she could forget the events of the day. But really, how could she, when she sat on the floor of the Marquess of Newbury’s boat in soaking wet clothing. Close beside her sat her river companion. Another of the Marquess’s saves from the filthy Thames.
“Mr. Spencer, kindly remove your arms from around my waist.” Bella forced the words through chattering teeth. No easy task as her throat and lungs ached from all the water she’d swallowed. Water, only God knew what it contained.
“Forgive me. I didn’t want to let you go. Afraid I would lose you,” Mr. Spencer said through teeth, which chattered along with hers.
Mr. Stuart Spencer was cousin to the Earl of Bridgeton, whom Bella’s sister, Amelia, recently married. And she and Mr. Spencer had a friendship that was a tad unconventional.
“I am not yours to lose.”
“A gentleman can dream, can he not?”
“Do as Lady Isabella requests.”
Bella snapped her head around to seek out the person belonging to the voice. Myles Fredrickson, Baron Norwich, glared at Spencer from his perch across the boat. When he locked eyes with her he nodded his head ever-so-slightly. Evidently Myles, soaking wet as well, also took the dreadful fall into the Thames and was rescued by Newbury. Thank God he was safe. Bella could not imagine life without him, or Spencer. Her time spent with Spencer was fun and he amused her as friends do. She would value the relationship until the end of time, but her heart didn’t pound inside her chest like it did with Myles. With Myles, it increased to the point it wanted to escape from within her chest and unite with Myles’s heart.
At Myles’s demand, Spencer inhaled deeply and removed his arms from around her waist. Something Bella regretted immediately. Not for wanting his hands on her, but because he brought her warmth. Truth be told, she’d never been held by a man. Under different circumstances she might have enjoyed it. Replace Spencer’s arms with Myles’s and she would enjoy the moment much more.
Bella’s day had begun with family and friends on the river for the opening of Waterloo Bridge. The evening was to conclude at Carlton House, with a ball hosted by Prince George. Everything had gone splendidly, until their boat got rammed by another, causing theirs to lean dangerously to one side, throwing her, Mr. Spencer, Myles, and who knew who else into the muddy river.
She shivered now at the initial shock of hitting the water face first and coming up disoriented and tangled in her numerous clothing. A rather large woman had clung to her the moment she broke free to the surface, dragging her back under. Determined not to die, she struggled to free herself from the woman, only to realize she sank deeper into the water. Terror had seized her, and she screamed beneath the surface, inhaling disgusting river water. Thank God, Mr. Spencer found her and with his strong arms pulled her to the surface and helped her stay afloat. A short time later the marquess, along with his friends, rescued both of them.
So now she sat, in Newbury’s boat, beside Spencer, and opposite Myles, her hands locked together, praying if any other occupants of her family’s boat landed in the water they were found safely. She also prayed for the poor woman who had dragged her under in panic.
After their boat had collided with another, numerous other boats had done the same, throwing many other unprepared souls into the river. Bloodcurdling screams still pierced the air now. She covered her ears with her hands, closed her eyes and cringed.
“Lady Isabella.” Mr. Spencer reached out and gently pried her hands free. “You do not sound or look well.”
“Forgive me,” Bella whispered as her eyes fluttered around the boat, taking in all the people staring wide eyed at them. “Oh, how dreadful we must look.”
“Not dreadful. We resemble drowned rats.” Mr. Spencer chuckled. A servant handed him a dry blanket and he unselfishly tucked it around her.
“Thank you,” she said as she pulled it up to her chin, when what she really wanted to do was bury her face in the soft wool and cry. “I can’t believe this happened to us. Do you know if anyone else from our boat landed in the water?”
Bella gazed at Spencer and then Myles as they shared a silent look and her heart iced up. She struggled to free her hands from the blanket. When she succeeded she reached out and clutched Spencer’s cool hand with hers. “You might as well tell me. I’ll find out eventually.”
Before Spencer could answer, Myles spoke between blue trembling lips and worried eyes. “Your sister, Lady Bridgeton that I know of, although there may have been others.” He paused. “I saw both your brothers and Bridgeton go in after her. Do not fret. They will not leave the water without her safely in tow.”
“Let us pray not.” Bella would not relax until she saw Amelia with her own two eyes. Until then, she shivered beneath the blanket, hoping their outing ended soon. How had such a day, full of hope and happiness and celebration, turned so wrong? Every muscle and bone in her body ached. Myles and she had blankets, but poor Spencer did not. Perhaps if the sun shined down on them today, instead of clouds, it would help with the chill. Bella moved closer to Spencer and shared the blanket, although her wet clothes had moistened into the wool. Her nose twitched at the repugnant smell.
“Thank you,” Spencer mumbled. Soaking wet, Mr. Spencer still cut a fine figure. His black hair hung long and wet over his brow, into his blue-green eyes, adding to his appeal. The man resembled her sister’s husband in many ways. Both men stood tall, had dark hair and chiseled features. The similarities ended with their appearance though. One only had to glimpse into Lord Brid
geton’s eyes to see the pain and suffering he had experienced during his lifetime. Spencer’s eyes sparkled with carefree living.
Spencer had been pursuing her favors, even though Bella had been in love with Myles for years. Myles, as he insisted on being called, was heir to an earldom and one of her brother’s, the Duke of Wentworth’s, best friends. Myles presently looked disapprovingly at her. One could assume it was because she’d shared her blanket with Spencer. Too bad.
Lately, Bella had given up all hope of having her dream of becoming Myles’s wife ever come true. Spencer, early on in the Season, had offered his services in making Myles jealous. For a time it worked. Myles seemed to take afternoon tea with her more as the Season progressed. Spencer also attended. Bella had to admit it was nice having two handsome and prominent gentlemen vying for her attention. If only she knew what held Myles back from asking for her hand? He seemed to genuinely care for her. He even kissed her on the lips once. When she glimpsed into his eyes, though, she saw something hidden deep within them. What did he hide? Something so damaging he couldn’t let himself love?
Stuart Spencer, on the other hand, appeared enamored with her and the guilt ate at her insides. Life would be so much better if she loved Spencer. All she had to do was say the word and he would marry her. At least, she thought he would. He looked at her the way she looked at Myles. Why, oh, why was life so complicated? Next year would be her fourth Season and she would be on the shelf because nobody had a fourth Season without being considered long in the tooth. She had a fortnight until the Season ended, a fortnight to find a husband.
“Lady Isabella.” The Marquess of Newbury held out his hand, offering his assistance in helping her up. “We have docked. I’ve sent word to your brother, the duke, stating you are safe, and I’m escorting you home. My carriage awaits to take you to your family.”
“Thank you.” As Newbury helped her exit his boat, she glanced around looking for Myles and Spencer who had vanished. Where had they disappeared to? She didn’t have time to inquire as Newbury whisked her away and into his carriage so quickly. Now, she found herself sitting in a lovely coach, pulled by two sets of matching pairs. Beside her sat a young maid, who wrapped her in a warm blanket. On the opposite side sat the marquess and a gentleman she did not know, although she recognized him as the man who also helped save her and Spencer from being swallowed up by the Thames.
Spencer meets his Lady Love Page 18